


A rock, a hard place and an angry qunari.

by thebear2047



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Modern OC in Thedas, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 09:17:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3564335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebear2047/pseuds/thebear2047
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My first work designed to get my feet off the ground and spark some ideas,based on the modern OC in thedas ideas, two teenagers go into thedas and wildness ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A rock, a hard place and an angry qunari.

This day was not going well for Kurtis. In fact one might say it was going as bad as it possibly could be, although he suspected he would regret taunting fate with that sentiment in a minute.

But as always good stories start from the beginning, and ours begins in a small miserable town in wales, called Tyr’laict although the name isn’t really that important, only that in the village lived our protagonist who as I have already said is called Kurtis Jaime Summers he was a quiet lad (For he was barely 15) and liked nothing more than to sit down by the fire with a good book in his hand, although he was perhaps not the usual image of a nerd with a full charcoal black beard, and a voice like thunder-and although he was about average in weight and height he was strong.

He was listening to one of his favourite artists, a rapper named Dan Bull, he rapped about various games and generally echoed the tone of his game extremely well-like an artist wielding his brush or a hunter with his bow, he was listening to the rap of DMC, which was similar to adrenalin in a track, with a pounding bass and a rage of angelic and demonic voices battling for control, like the epic clash of Lucifer and God manifest.

And that’s where shit did not just hit the fan, the proverbial plumbing system was lobbed full force at a wind turbine.

It started with a random gust of wind, which was odd because the windows where all shut (this being Wales obviously), then with a crackling rippling noise, sort of like Rice Krispies mixed with heavy metal, and then with an endless sigh of whispering voices too faint to make out properly other than two harsher deeper words “Corpheus RISES”, a sudden sapphire green rose up from the oaken floors, groaning, in a pain harsher than death itself, as if it had risen up from the lowest levels of purgatory.

However when Kurtis heard this noise he assumed it was his parents arriving home drunk, as usual after they had been out late, and hence the only method he used was to turn his music up to the loudest it would reach, as to not hear the inevitable fight that came and the crashes and smashing of furniture, pottery and glass. It was not until the eventual smashing of his door that he turned around and let out a scream like a banshee before being assimilated, into the great green mass. He found himself tumbling down into the vortex, like some colour blind remake of the wizard of oz.

He would not go down like this, he decided, into some maelstrom of hell, into the very depths of hell in this Emerald chaos, he would not be destroyed by some green orgy of sin, instead he decided to do the only thing he could do, resist and fight back. And so he strived with all his will and power to break free, pummelling with his mind at the sides of his cage, trying desperately to break free.

He felt weak, the very substance of his prison designed to make him despair as he plummeted to his death, but he would not falter in this, it was life and death, and frankly death did not appeal to him, and although his life was not the pinnacle of awesomeness it should have been he would fight tooth and nail to defend it.

And so he hammered away at the sides; his mind blasting out as he was falling, lashing at the sides .At first it was a small chip in the glass of the green as he passed, a no bigger than a thumbs width, but slowly he began to see cracks, and then breaks smashing the green vortex in a manner akin to glass meeting a sledgehammer, slowly it was all smashed away to reveal…SHIT!

He rushed towards the hard ground hoping beyond hope that something would happen to save him, that some miraculous force would come out of nowhere and stop him dying, or ensure at least that he felt nothing.

And as it turned out the gods were listening, unfortunately for him however it also turned out they had a supreme sense of irony, and on their end they sent in a variable smorgasbord of camping equipment along with a very surprised looking camper, hurtling horizontal to Kurtis’s vertical leading to them crashing into each other with a sickening crunch, although thankfully it was due to the large amount of camping equipment spluttering out of portal in bags that they could actually survive it, landing on the large pile of hikers equipment like a bed of feather pillows, albeit a bed of feather pillows, filled with suspiciously pointy bits.

Kurtis landed full force onto the bags frightened out of his mind at what happened, he didn’t know if it was due to a godly wrath or curse, or if perhaps, this was some extremely elaborate practical joke show, with epic special effects, although if this was the Truman show, then the producers would have some explaining to do.

As he was not flying through the air at current Kurtis had the time to examine his surroundings, there were bleak cliffs aplenty, waves battering against miserable grey sand and a forest standing behind as if a creepy cartoon villain ready to pounce on the protagonist as soon as he entered the totally not foreboding castle which wasn’t creepy or anything.

“Great” he thought “Trapped in no man’s land with no knowledge of what the hell has happened, what’s going to happen, where I am, and completely abandoned apart from one probably pissed off walker dude. If God has done this then I am legitimately becoming an atheist.”

And with that resolution set he got up and got ready for whatever it was that would be thrown at him next, he had seen from video games that as soon as something happened in the stories they were immediately then beset by enemies or something else idiotic, and whilst he had generally thought little about adhering to survival instructions given out by fiction, however because this was akin to the worst fantasy book ever written he thought that he should probably do something.

And do something he did- that something being to go over to his compatriot to check that he wasn’t dead or otherwise injured, he hoped not, he didn’t want to be alone in this wide alien world, and even if his comrade was a massive asshole, it would still beat trekking across the wilds with nothing to go on but the voice in his head.

Luckily for him the hiker seemed neither dead nor wounded, and even better appeared to be of his own age, although by the look of him that he had seen things beyond his years.

His face was pale, as if inhabited by some sort of spirit, he had a singular running raggedly down his cheek, like some sort of K.I.S.S makeup gone badly wrong, he had a very short haircut, which barely reached down to his forehead, and unlike the rest of him was rather bland, with a black straight monotony that would put a banker to bed, his features seemed jovial, although retained a small amount of seriousness and angularity, and a head which at the moment seemed to sport a small slash over the middle of his forehead from the landing, nothing severe, but it would make an interesting scar. What he wore displayed him as something of an interesting person with his t-shirt reading “Campers do it… in your bed with your wife” , his trousers had more pockets than he did cash in his bank account, and he was wearing a plain set of combat boots.

“A hardened hiker then.” Kurtis thought “Perhaps he’ll be able to tell were the fuck we are” and then he noticed the tattoo of St Georges cross, poking out from under his sock on his left ankle, and then he reconsidered his ideas about whether he was an asshole.

Don’t get him wrong he had nothing against the English, however an asshole who gets a tattoo of his flag on his ankle was likely very parotic about his country and in his experience from assholes at school, that patriotism tended to include shitting on the welsh, and the Scottish and the French, and quite frankly the next person who called him a sheep shagger would on the floor quicker than the flick of a switch.

Still it was slightly odd that the lad didn’t have any hair, he looked 16 and exactly like the muscled depiction of masculinity that most adolescent males aimed for, muscled, masculine, and very macho with a strong chest, what looked like a ten pack of abs, he assumed that it was from what looked like hours at the gym, as well as a honed, rugged edge to him, that could have only have come from hours of trekking the outdoors.

But enough gazing, he told himself he needed to take inventory, so what did he have and what did he need. He looked up at the great pile of camping bags, it was about 17 by his counting with one or two buried underneath the great mound, he had his bag of goodies with him full with his food and his electrical goodies, like his nokia and his laptop, which would probably be somewhat of an annoyance along the journey back to whatever civilization was to be had in this hellish landscape, for they were no doubt hardy people, most likely not the most intelligent, but strong and courageous, and above all they would have a love of alcohols-so basically he was probably in Scotland where such miracles as battered mars bars, iron bru and buckfast wine were all heralded as saviours of the modern era, allowing productivity never seen before i.e. they turned up to work on a sugar rush, and ended the day drunk stumbling home.

“Not my kind of place” He thought “But it should be interesting drinking for the first time, what is the age limit here about 12?” and as he thought about the joys of being pissed he heard an ungodly moan from behind him, it sounded likely something out of a horror movie, a ghastly being come to haunt the world of the living because of a terrible injustice, or a zombie newly awoken and ready to serve his dark master, he turned around hair standing on end, knuckles clenched bone white, mouth torn back in a snarl ready to do or die to defend his life.

Although the answer was a little more anticlimactic it turned out it was simply the lad from earlier waking up, which in all honest was not that surprising, as he did look like he could take a bull charge to the face and still be able to swing 7 rounds with Mohammed Ali, and probably win 30 seconds in to the first round.

“You up lad?” He asked unsure about exactly was happening.

“LAD?” Thundered a somewhat feminine voice “I’m FUCKING FEMALE YOU DIPSHIT!”

Oh shit.

From this angle he could see a bit more of it… her rather, her eyes were somewhat of a feminine beauty and he could see that her face, whilst having many masculine features concealed the femininity of the walker, as he could see a clutch of freckles painting her cheeks and a decidedly rosy glow, which ordinarily would have made him take an immediate liking to said female, if said female wasn’t currently bellowing at him with the roar of an angry lion.

“HOW FUCKING DARE YOU, I GET FLUNG OUT OF NOWHERE IN THE MIDDLE OF A COMFORTABLE CAMPING TRIP INTO..” she gestured widely obviously not particularly comfortable with her surroundings “INTO THIS ABYSMAL COAST OF BARREN ROCKS AND DEATH! AND TO FUCKING TOP IT ALL OFF ON COMING HERE I IMMEDIATELY GET INSULTED BY SOMEONE I HAVE NEVER EVEN SEEN BEFORE IN MY FUCKING LIFE” and it was at this point she continued to make several angry noises, which where respectively akin to a lion’s roar and a the sound an extremely pissed off elephant bellows.

All of which was then drowned out by the ominous shout of “Don’t move ladies.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys,  
> As I stated this his my first story, and I am just starting out as a writer, so I hope you'll forgive me for minor errors, although I would love some constructive criticism for my work, as being a new writer it's all about improvement and I know from writing it that it probably is pretty bad.
> 
> I'll probably add more chapters to this at some points because I have lots ideas about it, especially as the first chapter was left on somewhat of a cliffhanger. I also have various ideas about the roles of my OC's and without being too obvious it has something to do with kurtis and his smashing technique.
> 
> So yeah, this is my first work, enjoy!


End file.
